


Keep on taking me higher

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claudeleth Week, Dancing, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fluff, mild sexual themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: Four times Claude and Byleth dance and one time they don't, because they're watching someoneelsedancing.Claudeleth week day 3: dancing/royals
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 124
Collections: Claudeleth Week 2020





	Keep on taking me higher

The first time Byleth dances with Claude is at the ball at Garreg Mach, not long before the world falls apart.

It's the first time she ever dances in her life.

She is not planning to dance that night. As a teacher, she doesn't think it'll be expected of her, and that relieves her when she sees the formal, stately dancing begin. She's seen dancing in the various towns and villages she and her father have been in over the years, but she's never taken part. No one ever asked her to take part, and she'd never understood the point of it. But that dancing had been lively. Joyful, even. Nothing like the precise steps and straight backed posture of the dancer's she's watching now.

But then, for the first time in her life, someone asks her to dance.

No, perhaps _ask_ is not the correct word. What Claude does is approach her with a smile and a wink, stretching his hand out to wrap around her wrist and pulling her onto the dance floor before she knows it.

An extremely unfamiliar feeling bubbles up in Byleth. She thinks it might be panic.

It must appear in her expression, because Claude blinks in surprise before a slow smile crosses his face. “Relax, Teach,” he says, directly into her ear. “I got you.” He arranges their hands – one of hers on his shoulder, the other one held tightly in his. His other hand settles on her waist, warm and surprisingly comforting. 

His hands are warm, his fingertips calloused. Her eyes travel from their clasped hands up his arm, to his shoulder, and then to his face, another unfamiliar feeling curling in her stomach, one that is much pleasanter than her earlier panic. 

“Just follow my lead.”

Byleth tries, but for all her grace on the battlefield, she's struggling here, sometimes attempting to lead them herself even though she doesn't know what she's doing, but oftentimes just not picking up the cues that Claude is giving her.

For most of the dance she’s looking down at her feet, frustrated.

But when she looks up she comes to a complete stop because Claude’s face is so close, and he’s smiling softly at her, eyes warm.

“I only recently learned this dance myself, Teach, so I understand your frustration.” He nudges her into moving again, and this time they begin to flow better together, because Byleth isn’t thinking so hard about it and is letting him lead.

She keeps her eyes on his face now, that warm feeling inside her curling tighter. 

How has she never noticed how green his eyes are before?

~*~

The second time they dance is shortly after the end of the war. They’ve just returned to Garreg Mach from Shambhala, and Hilda informs Claude that a party is being held in the town to celebrate.

He can’t go straightaway – he’s too close to so many of his plans coming to fruition, but there is still so much to be done. 

After Hilda leaves, he picks up a letter he's already memorised. It's written in the language of his homeland.

His eyes trace over his father's signature.

Knowing that he has to leave Fódlan soon is a bittersweet feeling. He’s worked too long to get this far and not be pleased about his progress and what comes next, but Claude knows he’s going to be leaving his heart behind, whether Byleth accepts the ring he’s carrying in his pocket or not.

That question he will ask her tomorrow.

Tonight, though, he makes his way down to the modest feast being held in the town. The dancing has already started, and the volume of the party goers indicate that the drink has been flowing for some time.

Claude makes his way through the crowd, smiling at those who greet him, watching the dancers as he moves. It’s a simple folk dance – lots of spinning and cheers and clapping. He much prefers it to the stuffy noble dance he’d been forced to learn when he’d arrived in Fódlan. There is joy in these dances, reminding him of Almyra.

When he finds Byleth sitting at a table with Leonie and a few grizzled men from her father’s old mercenary troop, Claude doesn't hesitate to stride up to the table.

When Byleth looks up at him, he makes a flourishing bow and extends his hand in invitation. To his delight, Byleth immediately smiles and raises from her seat, accepting his hand.

They fall in with the other dancers as best they can, though they occasionally turn the wrong way, bumping into other couples. But everyone is good natured about it, and Claude takes the teasing in the same vein, spinning Byleth around as best he can, relishing each second he can hold her hand.

She laughs that night, louder than he’s ever heard her before, with bright eyes that look at him with something he’s sure is mirrored in his own. _Tomorrow_ , he tells himself again, but it’s proving very difficult to not declare himself in front of everyone when he has her like this in arms, warm, happy and making him think she might be his.

~*~

It is almost a full year after the end of the war before they are married. They would have married sooner, but a wedding between the monarchs of two nations meant that this had to be a spectacle – a great event that would be remembered as the start of a beautiful union, both personally and politically.

Claude’s still new and precarious position as king of Almyra meant he hadn’t been able to be here for much of the planning. That hadn’t particularly bothered him, but continuing to be separated from Byleth _had._ Even since he's arrived back at Derdriu for the wedding, he’s hardly seen her. Even today, on their wedding day, they’ve hardly had any time to themselves yet.

But now they’re stepping out for their first dance together, both of them clad in rich clothes. Byleth's dress is in a rather traditional Fódlan style. While she looks beautiful, Claude is already itching to take it off her. He himself has been allowed to add flourishes to his outfit, making it a mix of both his heritages. When Byleth had stepped up beside him at the altar before Seteth, Claude had taken her hand and snapped a colourful bracelet around her wrist, the colour matching his outfit. It stood out on her, contrasting with her pale dress and pale hair, and she'd smiled widely at the gift, brushing her fingers reverently over it.

It catches Claude's eye again as Byleth raises her face to his and confidently takes his hand in hers, and places the other one on his shoulder. He grins, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“I see you took some lessons.”

“Lorenz was very instructive. He helped me practice.”

“Ah.” He begins to lead them, and she follows, movements perfect. “I suppose I should thank him, although it bothers me that he’s probably danced more often with my wife than I have.”

She smiles up at him, soft and happy, in that moment looking free of every pressure and stress her position places on her. Her eyes glitter. “Say that again,” she whispers.

His hand on her waist pulls her in closer than is socially acceptable. “ _My wife_.”

Byleth turns her head, her lips briefly pressing to the underside of his jaw. “ _Husband_.” A shiver of desire goes through Claude, and he briefly entertains the idea of absconding on their own wedding so they can be alone. But there are too many people here – both from Fódlan and Almyra – that they both need support from, and to whom they have to prove that this wedding is a good idea.

They circle the room as they dance, all eyes on them.

“I’ve missed you,” she sighs.

His grip tightens on her. “I’ve missed you, too. We won’t always be apart, I promise.”

“I know. And I know you have to go back in a few days. Is it bad that I want to leave our own wedding so I can have more time with you?”

He grins, even through he's already aching at the thought of leaving her again so soon. “I had a similar thought. But I think we need to stick it out.”

She hums in acceptance. “This stuffy dance goes on forever, doesn’t it? Is it the only dance nobles know?”

“It's the one Fódlan dance I learned. So I hope no one was expecting anything else.”

She laughs. “Perhaps we can start dancing like we did at that party in Garreg Mach.”

Claude is wistful. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“It felt more like me. This doesn’t.”

“I understand what you mean. This wedding isn’t for us as _people_ , it’s for the king and queen.”

“Yes. But I am glad that I can call you my husband.” Her smile warms again. “My husband, Khalid.”

Claude colours and – uncaring of everyone watching – stops dancing so he can kiss his wife properly.

~*~

Their wedding in Almyra is a long time coming. Claude has spent the two years since their previous wedding stabilising his reign, beginning to open up the borders, and see the flowers of his dream begin to bloom. And now, Byleth is finally in the Almyran capital, and the celebrations for their wedding have begun.

Byleth has spent the last few days facing off challengers in the open training grounds, with countless people having arrived to see King Khalid’s Fódlan bride. She’d seen off the challengers, even facing Nader himself in the ring, and it had been fun even though she knows every move she makes is being scrutinised. But even now, years into her rule, Byleth is more comfortable with a weapon in hand and an opponent facing her than she is with the more diplomatic aspects of being a queen. The Almyran attitude to things fits her better than Fódlan, it seems.

This wedding has been another long day. Byleth spent the morning being washed and dressed, and then she and Claude had sat through a very long sermon before being declared husband and wife – rather similar to their Fódlan wedding, in that regard. 

And now she sits curled into Claude from their comfortable seat of cushions at the head of the room, raised slightly above everyone else as they watch the dancers, who move in mesmerising ways that Byleth has never seen before. The long silks they wear trail and dance too, and she can see that all the Fódlans present are captivated by the performance.

“Each dance tells a story,” Claude murmurs as they watch a man and a woman twirl together and then draw apart. He leans forward to pour some more wine into her goblet, before turning to speak again, lips brushing against her ear. “I’m sure you can guess which kinds of stories they tell at weddings. This one is about courtship, the uncertainty and exhilaration of falling in love, and–“ here he presses a kiss just behind her ear, making her shiver “–the yearning that comes with waiting for marriage before consummating that love.”

She turns to to face him, brushing her nose against his. “Really?”

Claude’s eyes are bright. He looks exceptionally beautiful tonight, Byleth decides. The bright colours and Almyran patterns suit him, and she reaches up to finger the soft fabric of the scarf around his head. She’s wearing similar colours and patterns though altered enough to suit her colouring. But there’s no denying they match.

“Oh, yes,” he replies with a smile. “Wait until you see the dance coming up next, when the yearning ends. That dance is one of passion and virility.”

“Hmm,” she says absently, eyes drawn back to the dancers – their graceful movements, the lines of their bodies. “I don’t think we have a problem with that.”

His hand slips under the folds of her dress, fingers teasing the bare skin of her thighs, making her shiver again. “We certainly don’t,” he says, almost smugly. “We were pretty good at the yearning, too.”

“Still are.”

She feels his sigh against her. “I know. We won’t always have to spend so much time apart.”

Dragging her eyes away from the dancers, she turns to kiss him.

“I know," she says softly against his lips as they breath each other in. "And when I see how far we’ve come in the last few years, I know it’s worth it. Your dreams are coming true, Khalid.”

The hand on her thigh squeezes slightly, which makes Byleth turn further into him, forgetting that there are other people in the room.

“Our dreams, Byleth. I would never have achieved this without you.” His next kiss is soft, full of love and she smiles into it.

The drummers begin playing a slower, more sensual beat, and they break away to watch the entrance of two new dancers. Once more Byleth becomes engrossed in the dance; of the slow purposeful way they make their way closer to each other, how they begin to touch each other, with the man making use of the silks of the woman’s dress to caress them along her skin. They ripple and move together like lovers in a way that makes Byleth squirm.

“Oh,” she says softly, taking a large gulp of wine to wet her suddenly dry throat.

Claude turns his face into her neck. She can feel his smile. “I know. It’s very beautiful, but I really wish my parents weren’t here for it.”

Byleth resists the urge to look over to where the former king and queen of Almyra sit, afraid she’ll accidentally make eye contact while dancers simulate sex in front of them. Instead,she urges Claude’s flushed face up from her neck so she can see him, brushing some of his unruly hair out of his eyes.

“You’re killing the mood by talking about your parents,” she whispers, trying not to smile.

The hand still on her thigh slides higher. “Don’t worry,” he whispers back, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “I’ll make it up to you.”

~*~

Later that night, Byleth stands on the balcony of their room, leaning onto a stone wall, looking upwards.

The stars seem brighter in Almyra. Byleth’s not sure why that is. Perhaps it’s because they’re in the tallest part of the palace, which is situated on a hill, overlooking the capital. It's taller than any building in Derdriu, she's sure.

Whatever it is, they bring her comfort as she looks up at them.

She turns her head slightly as she hears Claude’s soft footfalls approaching, and she leans back into him as he wraps his arms around her. He’s just come from washing up in the wet room adjoining their bedroom, and his chest is bare. He smells fresh and welcoming.

Distant sounds from the palace garden and the city below drift up towards them.

“Aren’t you cold?” Byleth asks, sliding her hands over his arms.

She feels him shake his head against her. “How could I be cold when I have you in my arms?”

Byleth turns to face him, wrapping her own arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so she can kiss him. Below, the music gets louder.

“We never got a chance to dance today,” he muses, smoothing fingers over one of the braids in her hair.

That’s true – they had feasted and watched all manners of entertainment, although Byleth’s favourite had been the dancers, especially the ones who used swords in their routine. Speeches had been given – both in Almyran and Fódlan – but she and Claude, the bride and groom, had never gotten an opportunity to dance. There had been too many people to speak to, the setting of foundations for her now official status as Queen of Almyra. 

Like their wedding in Fódlan, this one hadn’t been for _them_. It had been for their rule.

She doesn’t mind it, not really. By now, Byleth has grown into her role and she hopes that this wedding marks the start of an easier time for both she and Claude, one in which they can spend more time together instead of being seperated by mountains.

“What’s stopping us from dancing now?”

He pauses, eyes calculating, before he moves, lifting her up just under her arms and spinning them around. When he sets her back on the ground, he lets his hands rest on her waist.

Byleth keeps her hands on his shoulders as they begin to sway together, pressing herself closer so that her chest brushes against him. “Do you know any of the dances from earlier?”

Claude laughs. “Sadly, no, that was not part of my education.” But he begins to move his hips against her in imitation of the dance they’d seen earlier. Byleth does what she can to follow his movements, laughing lightly when she fumbles.

It turns into a moan when Claude leans down to kiss her, moving his hands so that they rest on her ass, squeezing the soft flesh and encouraging her to press against him. He stoops slightly so he can wedge a knee inbetween her legs, still keeping them swaying – completely off beat to the drumming from below.

Byleth laughs again when he begins kissing his way down her neck, brushing against a ticklish spot.

Claude's head lifts, a pout on his lips. “Why are you laughing at my virility dance?”

“Is that what it’s supposed to be?” she asks, breathless, as she grinds down on his leg.

“I thought it was obvious,” Claude replies as he lifts her again, this time hiking her legs around his waist. He begins walking back into their room and towards the bed. As he walks, Byleth places kisses across his face while her hands trail up and down his bare back.

When they reach the bed, Claude clambers on, and gently lays Byleth down, stretching himself over her as her legs drop to his sides, and giving her a long, heated kiss, still rolling his hips against her.

When he pulls back, it’s Byleth’s turn to pout.

“No more dancing?

Claude begins pulling the skirt of her dress up, fingers ghosting teasingly along her legs as he goes. His smile is wide and full of promise.

“My love,” he all but purrs at her. “I want to dance all night with you. We’re just getting started.”

**Author's Note:**

> My Claudeleth week fic ratings are going up each today. 👀


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